Molly in the Middle Page 5

  Sat afternoon is good.

  I delete the period after “good” and replace it with an exclamation point. Or does that sound too anxious? I delete the exclamation point and go back to the period. Much better. I send the text and don’t take my eyes off of the phone until he texts back. Which he does immediately.

  Gr8. Ur house?

  My house? Would that work? Mom won’t be here. I could ask Dad, who probably wouldn’t care if I had a friend over, but Eliza and Coco would. Only because that friend is a boy who is not Kellan. And they’d totally tell Mom.

  Then again, what do I care if they tell Mom? Let them. Maybe if Mom were home being a mom, I could ask her directly.

  Yes. 445 Cherry Lane. 2:00

  I bite my lip as I wait for his reply.

  Sweet!

  I flop back down on my bed, this time with a huge grin plastered across my face.

  My bedroom door flies open, and the next thing I know, Coco is parked right next to me.

  “Whatcha doing?” she asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “Who are you texting?” She leans over to grab my phone.

  I pull it away from her. “None of your business. And why didn’t you knock?”

  Coco shrugs. “What are we doing for dinner?”

  “How should I know?” I ask. “Why don’t you call Dad?”

  “I did.” Coco picks at her already-worn-off nail polish. “He didn’t answer his phone.”

  “He never answers,” I say. “He’ll be home soon.”

  “I’m hungry. Should I call Mom?” Coco’s lower lip is trembling a little, and I’m horrified that she might start to cry. As annoying as she is, sometimes I forget that she’s still a little kid. She probably has no idea what’s going on between Mom and Dad.

  “You can call Mom if you want,” I tell her.

  Coco wipes her nose with her hand and nods. Her eyes droop and her head hangs low. She looks just like a hound dog.

  “Hey,” I say, “how about if you and I go downstairs and see if we can find something to make for dinner?”

  “Really?” Coco sniffles.

  “Yeah. I’m sure we have some pasta or rice or something. How hard can that be to make? If Dad can do it, so can we.” I pat her on the knee and stand up.

  “Okay!” She stands up too, and her eyes brighten.

  She follows me down to the kitchen. I open the pantry and scan the contents. Frosted Flakes. Cheerios. Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. Cocoa Puffs. Froot Loops. I pull boxes and boxes of cereal out and stack them on the counter. I finally find a box of mac and cheese buried in the back.

  “Look what I found!” I shake the box. “We could figure out how to make this.”

  Coco jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “I love mac and cheese.”

  “Let’s see.” I look for the directions on the back of the box. “First, we have to boil water.”

  Coco pinches her lips together. “How do you do that?”

  “That’s the easy part.” I look in the cabinets and find a decent-size pan. “Just fill this halfway with water.”

  Coco takes the pan to the sink while I continue to read the directions. Looks easy enough.

  “We just have to wait for the water to boil,” I tell Coco. “And then we’ll put the macaroni in.”

  Coco stares at the pot. “How long until it boils?”

  I look at the directions again. “It doesn’t say.”

  We both stare at the water for what feels like hours, until it finally starts to bubble.

  “Something’s happening!” Coco squeals.

  “Let’s wait until there are a few more bubbles,” I say. “And then we’ll put the macaroni in.”

  Coco’s head nods up and down like one of those bobblehead toys. When the water is at a full boil, I slowly pour in the box of macaroni.

  “Okay.” I stir the noodles with a wooden spoon. “Now we wait a few minutes for it to cook, then we add the sauce and stuff.”

  Coco clasps her hands together. “This is going to be so yummy!”

  We watch the macaroni swim and swirl in the boiling water. After a few minutes I lift a piece out of the pot, blow on it, and pop it in my mouth.

  “I think it’s ready,” I tell Coco, whose eyes follow me as I bring the pot over to the sink and pour the contents into a strainer.

  “Is it time to make the sauce?” Coco asks. “That’s the best part.”

  “Yep,” I say. “Can you get the milk and butter out of the fridge?”

  Coco puts the milk and butter on the counter. I pour the neon orange cheese packet into the pot and add the milk and butter, then mix it all up until, miraculously, it looks just like the mac and cheese Dad makes. I can’t wait to see how excited he’ll be when he comes home and finds dinner all ready.

  “It looks soooooo good.” Coco stands on her tiptoes and peers into the pan, which is now bubbling with ooey, gooey cheese.

  The garage door makes a rumbling sound, which means that Dad’s home.

  “Quick,” I say to Coco, “set the table.”

  Coco stares at me. “How do I do that?”

  “Just put out some plates and forks,” I say. “Oh, and napkins.”

  Coco pulls four plates out of the cabinet and puts one at each place. She then folds four napkins into triangles and places the forks on top of them. She finishes up with a great big grin just as Dad walks into the kitchen holding Chinese takeout.

  “What’s this?” He puts the bag on the counter.

  “Molly and I made dinner.” Coco stands straighter, and her eyes sparkle.

  Dad looks at me, then Coco, then back at me again. “Why did you do that?”

  The harsh tone of his voice causes my smile to fade. “We thought it would be helpful.”

  “Or maybe you thought I’d forget about dinner, that without Mom here I can’t take care of my own kids?” Dad’s lips form a thin straight line as he stares at me.

  “No, we just—” I begin to protest, but he interrupts me.

  “You should have checked with me first.” Dad sighs. “I went out of my way to pick up Chinese.”

  “That’s okay.” I force my lips to curl into a smile, even though smiling is the last thing I want to be doing right now. “We’ll just save the mac and cheese for tomorrow night.”

  I put a lid on the pot and move it off of the hot burner.

  “Noooo!” Coco whines. “I want mac and cheese tonight!”

  “It’s not a big deal, Coco.” I grit my teeth and stare at her, hoping she’ll get the hint. “We’ll just save it for tomorrow. You can have it then.”

  “It’s not fair!” Coco stomps her feet. “We worked hard, and it looks yummy.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry.” Dad’s shoulders slump. “It was nice of you to make dinner. I guess I’m just not hungry, and I have to get some work done anyway.”

  He leaves Coco and me there with bags of Chinese food and macaroni and cheese that is getting colder and soggier by the minute.

  chapter

  10

  I WAKE UP ON SATURDAY feeling like I might throw up.

  My stomach is doing backflips just thinking about the fact that Robert will be here in a few short hours. I need breakfast. Or maybe some fresh air.

  After I choke down my Rice Krispies, I hop on my bike and head to the drugstore. I buy the same rainbow hair kit I used on myself. While I’m there, I pick up some markers so I can design the shirts for Team Chocolate Chip Cookies for the Muscular Dystrophy Walk. After that, I swing by Sweet Things, Kellan’s favorite bakery, to get him a supersize chocolate chip cookie. I carefully place it inside my backpack, on top of the bag from the drugstore, and then I ride to Kellan’s house.

  He opens the door before I even knock.

  “Hey, Mols.” He has a serious case of bed head, with his hair going every which way but the way it’s supposed to go. “What are you doing here so early?”

  I hold the cookie out to him, and his eyes grow to three times their normal
size. “No. Way. Is that what I think it is?”

  I nod. “A Sweet Things supersize chocolate chip cookie.”

  He snatches the cookie from out of my hands and throws his arms around me. “You’re the best best friend ever, you know that?”

  “Yep,” I say.

  “And you’re just in time because Mom is actually making me wheatgrass juice.” Kellan lowers his voice to a whisper. “Did you hear that? I’m having grass for breakfast!”

  “Well, now you’re having grass and a Sweet Things supersize chocolate chip cookie.”

  “Yessss.”

  “I gotta go,” I say. “I’ve got to get home and clean up a little.”

  “Oh, right!” Kellan winks. “Today’s the big hair date.”

  I feel my cheeks heating up. “It’s not a date.”

  “Right.” Kellan chuckles. “I can’t wait to hear all about it tonight.”

  My stomach rumbles just thinking about tonight. Kellan’s mom is taking us to Café Ole, the best Mexican food restaurant in the entire universe. She lets us go only a few times a year since she says their food is loaded with fat and salt. That must be what makes it so good.

  “I’ll give you all the details,” I say as I jog back to my bike. “See you at six o’clock!”

  Kellan waves from his front porch as he takes a giant bite of his cookie. “See you then,” he says, his cheeks filled with chocolaty goodness.

  Dad is reading the newspaper at the kitchen table when I get home.

  “How was your bike ride?” He puts the paper down and takes a sip of coffee.

  “Good.” I open the fridge door and grab a bottle of iced tea. “What are you doing today?”

  “I have some work to do in the yard,” Dad says. “How about you?”

  “I’m having a friend over at two o’clock, remember?”

  Dad pinches his mouth and furrows his eyebrows like he’s trying to remember, but a split second later his face is back to normal. “Oh, that’s right.”

  I swallow down the thickness in my throat. The truth is, I never asked Dad if Robert could come over, but since he’s so forgetful, I could say I asked and he wouldn’t remember anyway. I shake the guilt out of my head and tell myself it’s not that big of a deal. I’m not hiding anything or lying to him.

  Not exactly, anyway.

  “Where are Eliza and Coco?” The house is unusually quiet.

  “Eliza is at a friend’s, and Coco is at the movies with Fiona.”

  “That’s good,” I say more to myself than to him. Hopefully, they’ll be gone all day. It’s not that I care if they tell Mom, but I know she’ll interrogate me and I don’t want to have to explain everything to her.

  I spend the next couple hours frantically cleaning my room. I put away my laundry, make my bed, and even drag the vacuum cleaner all the way upstairs. I make sure the bathroom is spotless too, which is no small job, especially since Coco’s bath toys are spread out all over the place. I even find a rubber duckie stuffed inside a toilet paper roll that’s wedged between the sink and the tub.

  I’m almost finished folding the towels when the doorbell rings. I throw the last towel in the linen closet, take a deep breath, and stroll as casually as I can to the door.

  When I open it, Robert is on the other side, his skateboard leaning against his leg.

  “Hey,” I say. And then I stand there scouring my brain for something else to say. My brain has nothing.

  “Hey,” Robert says. He runs his hand through his hair, which is flopping into his eyes but somehow still looks cool and stylish instead of just plain messy.

  We stand there in silence for a minute until Robert asks, “Can I come in, or should we do my hair on the front lawn?”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course.” A prickly sweat makes its way up my back, and I step aside so he can walk through the door.

  Robert Jackson is in my house.

  I wish I were on Instagram so I could take a picture of him standing in my foyer. Nobody at school would believe it if I told them.

  “I have the hair kit,” I tell him.

  “Sweet!” Robert beams. “I can’t wait to rock rainbow hair.”

  “Do you want something first? Like a snack?” I lead him into the kitchen.

  “Sure. What do you have?”

  I open the pantry and pull out a package of Oreos and a bag of chips. Robert takes some of each. Then I fill two glasses with iced tea.

  We sit on the stools in front of the kitchen counter.

  “So why’d you decide on rainbow hair?” Robert asks between gulps of iced tea.

  I shrug. “Just wanted a change, I guess.”

  “Yeah.” Robert nods. “I get that. Change is good.”

  “Why do you want rainbow hair?” I ask him.

  “Because it’s super cool,” he says. “It’s a look that tells people that I’m different, you know? That I don’t want to be plain and boring like everyone else.”

  And even though I’m sitting down, my knees feel weak and my face feels hot. Because Robert Jackson just totally read my mind.

  I’m hoping another huge sip of iced tea will bring my cheeks back to their normal color. But my hands must be shaking too much, because instead of bringing the glass to my mouth, it hits my chin and iced tea spills all over my shirt.

  I let out a little squeal, and Robert jumps off the stool.

  I’m too horrified to move, so I just stand there as iced tea drips down my chin, my neck, and my shirt.

  Robert must think this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen, because he’s cracking up. I’m pretty sure that I’m going to die of embarrassment any minute now.

  “Got a towel?” Robert asks when he stops laughing long enough to catch his breath.

  I point to the pantry. “Bottom shelf.”

  Robert pulls a dish towel out and throws it at me. Luckily, I manage to catch it.

  “That was epic,” he says.

  I look at him, expecting to see some form of disgust or judgment on his face, but instead, he just looks relaxed and happy. And if I’m being completely honest, a little adorable.

  “Yeah.” I give him a weak smile and do my best to dry off my shirt. “Let’s hope I’m less of a spaz with the hair coloring.”

  “No worries,” he says. “I trust you completely.”

  A warmth fills my chest. I’m pretty sure my heart just melted a little.

  “So should we get started?” Robert pats me on the back, and the toasty feeling radiates through my body.

  “Sure. The supplies are already set up in the bathroom.”

  “Lead the way,” Robert says, and follows me upstairs.

  chapter

  11

  FOR THE NEXT THIRTY MINUTES Robert and I hardly talk. He’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, and I’m concentrating so hard on making sure the colors are perfectly spaced, with each strand of hair covered. I bite my lip as I put the final color (bright blue) in the last section of his hair, which, by the way, is surprisingly soft for a boy’s.

  “Okay,” I say as I place the plastic cap over his head. “Now you have to sit still for twenty minutes.”

  I set the alarm on my phone, and Robert stands and stretches.

  “You’re supposed to sit still,” I say.

  “I’ll stand still. How’s that?”

  “I guess that’s okay.” I glance at the directions. It doesn’t say anything about standing.

  “Let’s see what’s going on here.” Robert glances in the mirror. “Whoa. I look like my grandma.”

  I giggle. “I don’t think you’ll still look like your grandma after the process is finished.”

  “I hope not.”

  I lean against the bathroom door. “Did you ask your parents if you could color your hair?”

  “Nah,” Robert says. “They pretty much leave me alone when it comes to things like that. Why, did you?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Did your parents care?” Robert sits back down on the edge of th
e bathtub.

  “Not at all,” I say, and I’m surprised that the words fly out of my mouth like arrows. Robert must be surprised too, since he raises his eyebrows and looks at me until I say something else.

  “They’re kind of distracted right now.” I look down at the tiled floor.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “They’re kind of in a fight.” I kick the tile with my toe.

  “Oh, yeah.” Robert nods. “My parents used to fight all the time.”

  My head snaps up. “They used to fight? Not anymore?” I wonder if he can share their secret.

  “They got divorced a few years ago.”

  A sour feeling builds in my stomach and makes its way up to my throat, but I swallow it down before it takes over my entire body. “That stinks.”

  “Yeah.” He’s looking in the mirror again. He lifts up the edge of the plastic cap, then puts it back down. “I’m used to it.”

  I can’t imagine getting used to having divorced parents. What if I wind up seeing my mom once a week for ice cream for the rest of my life? Could I actually get used to that? And what about Coco and Eliza? Dad can’t handle either of them on his own.

  My brain is so far down the divorce what-if that I actually jump when the alarm on my phone goes off.

  “Is it time?” Robert looks like a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

  “Almost,” I say, shaking the divorce thoughts out of my head. “We have to rinse this out.”

  I have Robert put his head in the sink as I watch the reds and blues and yellows and greens intertwine with one another and swirl down the drain. His hair is lighter than mine, and I can already tell that the color will be more vibrant on him than it is on me.

  I turn the water off and towel-dry his hair before I let him look in the mirror. I want it to be perfect before he sees it.

  “Okay,” I say. “You can look now.”

  He stands up and stares into the mirror. “Whoa.”

  He studies himself from different angles, but I can’t tell if he likes what he sees.

  He finally shifts his gaze from the mirror to me. His green eyes look even greener when up against the array of color on his head.

  “It’s freakin’ fantastic,” he says, and then he wraps his arms around me for a hug. The hug lasts for only a fraction of a second, but still.